No Crying in Baseball
by karp-about-the-karp
Summary: They thought it was bad when they started letting women play baseball, now the Rockford Peaches want to put minorities on the field. 'A League of Their Own' inspired. Brittana with a little Samcedes action on the side.
1. Batter up! Hear that call

MONDAY

"Let's go ladies," shouted Coach Evans, "Two more laps. I ain't got all day."

The women of the Rockford Peaches continued running, even though their sweat soaked and sun burnt bodies were screaming for a break.

"Wilde! Get your ass in gear," yelled Coach Evans, noticing Kitty lagging behind.

"Come on Coach, we've been running for forever," said Kitty, out of breath. She stopped running and bent over, putting her hands on her knees.

"You hear that ladies? Wilde wants to extend practice by an hour, and I think I agree," said Coach Evans.

Everyone groaned and shot Kitty dirty looks.

* * *

By the end of practice the whole team felt near death. They were blistered, bruised, and their legs could barely carry them any longer.

Brittany S. Pierce peeled off her catcher's gear, which was damp with sweat and a little blood. The former farm girl and current captain of the Rockford Peaches was used to long days of hard labor, but even she felt put through the wringer.

"What do you think, Pierce?" asked Coach Evans, approaching her in the dugout as she packed away her equipment, "Have we got a shot in hell against Racine?"

"I'd say we do if you'd drop the 'tough guy' act and let us practice instead of making us run until our feet bleed. Why are you being such a dick, Sam?" asked Brittany.

"I just want to be respected, Brittany," said Sam, lowering his voice and dropping his 'coach' persona, "I need to be in charge."

"Oh, they know you're in charge," said Brittany, nodding towards the team, "That's why they're planning a mutiny. They all hate you."

"What?" asked Sam, caught off guard, "But I'm doing everything right. Negative reinforcement... taunting... emotional abuse... Everything my dad did when he taught me to play." Sam had been a pitcher in the majors, but a knee injury ended his career just before his 24th birthday. It also kept him from passing the army's physical, which was why he was coaching in the AAGPBL, and not off fighting the battle of the bulge.

"I hate to have to be the one to finally tell you this," said Brittany, "But your dad's an asshole, Sam." Brittany had grown up a half mile away from Sam. They'd been friends ever since a nine-year-old Sam caught an eight-year-old Brittany trying to steal a piece of an apple pie that had been cooling on the window sill at his house.

"I know he seems harsh, but he just has high standards and won't settle for poor results," said Sam. He always had a major blind spot when it came to his father.

"No. He's an asshole. But by some stroke of luck, he hired Nana Jones to raise you, so you've grown up to be a decent guy. You have to stop trying to be your dad, or we're _going_ to start losing some of our roster. The truth is, you'd be ten times the coach he ever was, if you would just follow your own instincts," said Brittany. She patted him on the shoulder and walked away.

* * *

TUESDAY

"Where's Pepper?" Sam asked, surveying his players warming up on the field. He was standing next to Brittany on home plate. She lifted her catcher's mask in order to deliver the bad news.

"I'm pretty sure she left last night," she said, frowning, "Her stuff's gone and her locker is cleared out. She must of quit on us. But I say good riddance, if she wasn't even woman enough to tell us to our faces, she didn't have what it takes."

"_What_?" said Sam, "But Pepper was our pitcher. What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know. ...I sure as hell can't pitch for shit. Berry's accurate, but she's _way_ too slow. Rose's lucky to be playing second, we need Pillsbury on third, and Wilde... well I don't trust her as far as I could throw her. So, you're gonna have to find a new catcher if _she's_ gonna be the pitcher," said Brittany.

"What about everyone else?" asked Sam, scratching his head, "You know, the outfielders and the benchers."

"They all suck ass," said Brittany, "Pardon my French." The league scouts were told to find pretty girls, so there were quite a few beautiful, but mediocre players in the league.

"Well, I guess I have to find a replacement by the 25th, or Rachel's pitching," said Sam, "You should start warming her up, next practice."

"But if she pitches it'll be a home run free for fall," argued Brittany, "We might as well put the ball on a tee and get malteds instead of taking the field."

"I know, you're right," said Sam, sighing, rubbing his jaw with his hand, "Exactly how screwed are we, if we don't find a new pitcher?"

"We're so screwed we might be pregnant," said Brittany, putting her catcher's mask back on.

* * *

Sam spent the rest of the week scavenging for a pitcher. He held open tryouts, which no one showed up for. He called other coaches in order to negotiate a trade, but they only wanted to trade pitchers in exchange for Brittany, which Sam outright refused. She the best catcher in the league, by leaps and bounds. Sam got so desperate he started asking athletic-looking women off the street if they could pitch.

* * *

SUNDAY

"Shake a leg, Brittany," said Sam, walking quickly, "We're going to be late."

"Well, we would have been early if you hadn't spent half an hour fixing your hair," said Brittany, rolling her eyes at him, "Mercedes knows what you look like. No amount of hair gel is going to make her love you any more." Sam had used ample amounts of gel to control his usually, wildly unkempt mop of blonde hair for the night.

"I didn't... this wasn't..." sputtered Sam, he got a hold of himself, "It's really just a habit to be presentable for Sunday dinner, since Nana Jones always used make me dress up for it. I don't really care if my hair's a little messy." He shrugged in attempt to seem casual.

Brittany inspected the back of his head, "Is that a cowlick creeping up?"

"What? Where?" said Sam, frantically patting down the back of his head.

"Gotcha," said Brittany, sticking her tongue out at him and skipping up to Mercedes' door.

They had parked about half a mile away from her house and had walked there under the cover of the woods. The three of them weren't foolish enough to flaunt their association with each other. It just wasn't safe. For Mercedes, or Sam and Brittany.

Brittany, Mercedes, and Sam had grown up together, for the most part. Mercedes' late mother was Sam's nanny, so the two of them had spent their formative years attached at the hip. Ever since they were kids, Sam always did whatever he could to get Mercedes to laugh, and she always loved to give him a hard time. Brittany knew that there was more between them than just friendship, but they had never gotten together, for obvious reasons.

They all used to play baseball together in the summertime. Brittany used to catch for Sam, so he could practice pitching; and Mercedes would bat, if her mother had deemed her chore work satisfactory and allowed her to play.

* * *

"Sam!" said Mercedes, welcoming him in after she gave Brittany a hug.

"Hello Mercedes," said Sam, with a large grin on his face, "How are you? You look swell this evening."

"You look quite spiff yourself," said Mercedes.

_Wump!_

Brittany's ears pricked.

She thought she heard a faint, strange noise coming from outside. Curious, she followed the sound to Mercedes' living room. Sam and Mercedes were too busy smiling at each other to notice her slip away.

_Wump!_

Brittany peeked out Mercedes' living room window, which overlooked her neighbor's backyard, in order to locate the source of the sound. She saw a woman walk by and pick up a couple of baseballs by a sideways trashcan. The woman had a wiry build, caramel colored skin and dark, yet bright eyes. She looked unlike anyone Brittany had ever seen before.

The trashcan that was on its side, had a cloth hanging over its open lid. A couple of sandbags were placed in the trashcan to weigh it down, so it wouldn't move on impact. The woman seemed to be using the set up as a target.

She took her baseballs and walked a few paces away from the trashcan. As best as Brittany could figure, the exact distance from the pitcher's mound to home plate also separated the woman from the trashcan. Brittany watched as the woman carefully wound up to pitch. It was clear the motion was precise and practiced. Then, she pushed forward on her right foot and threw the ball hard, perfectly following through on her release.

_Wump!_

The ball, which was going so fast you'd blink and miss it, hit the cloth, directly in the center, where a charcoal 'X' was scratched in. Brittany's eyes widened. She just stood there in shock, unable to stop watching the woman.

Pitch after pitch, the woman hit the bullseye. Brittany couldn't believe what she was witnessing. This girl was almost better than Sam in his hey day. Her pitches had both laser-like accuracy and break neck speed.

Then, the woman changed it up and started laying down insane curve balls.

"_Holy mackerel,_" said Brittany, not believing the enormous talent she had just stumbled upon.

* * *

Brittany ran back to the kitchen.

"Where have you been?" asked Sam, sitting casually at the kitchen table, "Mercedes just went to take her laundry off the line."

"Sam-"

"I know, I wanted to help, but she thought someone might see us out there together," said Sam, incorrectly guessing what Brittany was about to say.

"Sam, I think I just found our new pitcher," said Brittany.

* * *

"Have you lost your damn mind?" asked Sam, stunned after Brittany told him who she wanted to pitch, "You _know_ how dangerous that would be."

"I think that's why we should do it," said Brittany.

"You think we should do it, _because_ it's a bad idea? Brittany, get your head out of your ass, these women's lives are more important than winning a few baseball games. Is it really worth people getting hurt? Maybe getting killed?" asked Sam, at a loss as to why Brittany seemed to be so careless.

"That's the whole point. This shouldn't be life or death. It should just be baseball. You know why we even have this league? It's because our men are over there, fighting for freedom. And the truth of the matter is, we've got our own fight, right here. We're not all free and equal in the states, and I for one, won't be the kind of person who looks the other way. Not anymore. I'm sick of this bullshit. Don't you want to be able to go out in public with Mercedes and acknowledge her presence, without worrying someone's gonna string you up?" asked Brittany, done sugar coating the facts.

Sam didn't answer.

"We should take this stand, and make it clear we won't tolerate this crap any longer. I know you agree with me. You should see this girl. She's better than anyone I've ever seen. She deserves to play, probably more than anyone on the team. Who are we to rob her of that?"

"I don't doubt it. But you might as well ask me to put Mercedes on the roster, while we're at it," said Sam. Mercedes was a home run hitting machine.

Brittany looked at him like he had just made a really good suggestion.

"No," said Sam, shaking his head, "No way." He absolutely could not handle her getting hurt.

"What's going on?" asked Mercedes, coming back inside with her laundry.

"Brittany saw a girl throwing baseballs behind Alma's house," said Sam, "She thinks we should recruit her as our pitcher."

"Who? Santana?" asked Mercedes, looking at Brittany, "Small, thin Spanish girl with long black hair?"

"Yeah," said Brittany, nodding and thinking she'd never heard a more beautiful name, "Did she just move here? I don't think I ever saw her before."

"Mmhm, She's Alma's granddaughter. She moved in a few weeks back. I don't know her too well. I've just seen her at church a couple times," said Mercedes, "Is she any good?"

"She's incredible," said Brittany, nodding emphatically.

"Why won't you consider it?" asked Mercedes, looking at Sam.

"I would, but you know how people will react. It's too dangerous," said Sam, "The whole team would be at risk. I thought you would agree with me."

Mercedes shook her head, "Maybe I would have last week, but I... I got fired from the restaurant on Thursday."

"What?" said Brittany and Sam, shocked. Mercedes was one of the hardest workers they knew. She was always on time, she knew the menu like the back of her hand, and she provided speedy service with a smile.

"Why?" asked Sam, "You're their best waitress."

Mercedes shrugged, "The Fabrays got complaints from some patrons. Apparently they didn't want a colored girl serving them food, because they were afraid of what they might catch." Mercedes paused, quelling the anger that rose up inside of her at that thought, "So, they fired me. And I just took it. I just left. I didn't defend myself or make a scene or anything. That's when I realized I've gotten too used to being treated that way. I've begun to accept that that's just how it works if you have the wrong skin color. And I can't do that anymore. When I think of my future children, and what world they're going to grow up in... I don't want it to be this. And I can't imagine telling them I didn't try to make things better for them. That I just kept my head down and took it." Mercedes shook her head, she'd gotten lost in her thoughts, "But we should do this. It may be small, but it's a start. I'll play for you. I need the money and I know your left fielder leaves a lot to be desired."

"We _have_ to do this Sam," said Brittany, now more convinced than ever.

Sam looked from Brittany to Mercedes, realizing that they were right.

"And this girl's agreed to play?" asked Sam, looking at Brittany.

"Oh, I didn't have a chance to ask her. She kind of ran off into her house the minute she saw me watching her..." said Brittany, "Did I forget to mention that?"

Mercedes and Sam gave her a look.

"What? I'm sure we can bring her around to the idea," said Brittany, as if it wasn't a big deal, "Oh, and I didn't even tell you the best part, she's a lefty!"


	2. The Time Has Come

Mercedes rapped on the Lopez's front door.

Alma Lopez, an all-around grouch and completely terrifying woman, opened the door. She kept the screen door closed, to keep a barrier between them. In all the years Mercedes had lived next door to her, they'd spoken exactly twice before.

"Hi, Mrs. Lopez," said Mercedes, smiling awkwardly, "Is your granddaughter around?"

"Why?" asked Alma, brow furrowed.

"Well, um, I'd like to talk to her," said Mercedes.

"About what?" asked Alma. She was as distrustful as she was antisocial.

"We'd like to know if she would like to join the Rockford Peaches, it's the girl's baseball team," said Mercedes.

"You want Santana?" asked Alma, surprised.

"Yes," said Mercedes, nodding with a small smile.

"No," said Alma, flatly.

"But she would have a chance to play on a major baseball team," said Mercedes.

"No."

"Everyone could see how good she is," said Mercedes.

"No."

"...She'd get paid seventy-five dollars a week," said Mercedes, desperately, as the door was being closed on her.

Alma's eyebrows raised.

"Santana!" called Alma, looking back into the house, "¡Vete aquí!"

"Qué?" said Santana, coming to the door. Her eyes widened as she saw who was at the door. Assuming she knew why Mercedes had come to see her, she began defending herself, "Look, I don't know what that girl at your house told you, but I didn't do anything. I was in our yard, and _she_ was the one staring at me. So, whatever it is, I didn't do it," said Santana, arms crossed.

"I'm not here to accuse you of anything," said Mercedes, "I'm here to offer you a job."

* * *

"How do you think it's going?" asked Brittany, glancing at the clock for the umptenth time, "It's taking her an awful long time."

"I don't know," said Sam, sticking a piece of chewing gum in his mouth, "Let's just hope it goes smooth."

"Maybe we should go out there and help convince her," said Brittany.

"Mercedes knows what she's doing," said Sam, "Just give her a few more minutes. She's a good saleswoman."

"Yeah, okay," said Brittany, watching Sam snap his gum, "You know that makes you look like a cow chewing cud, right?"

"I don't much care for it either. It's a sub for chewing tobacco," explained Sam.

"You quit chewing?" said Brittany, "What finally convinced you?"

"Mercedes said it was bound to be unhealthy, and that it's kinda gross," said Sam.

"Should have known," said Brittany, shaking her head.

* * *

"You want me to play baseball with a bunch of white girls," said Santana, "Together. On the same field. On the same team. In the same uniform."

"Yes, but I'll be on the team too, so you'll be in good company," said Mercedes, brightly.

Santana gave Mercedes a look that conveyed just how crazy she thought Mercedes sounded.

"Hey," said Alma Lopez sharply, grabbing Santana's arm and pulling her into the house and outside of Mercedes' earshot.

"It pays seventy-five a week," Alma whispered harshly, "You're doing this."

"Abuela, think what you're asking me to do..."

"You're going to start pulling your weight around here. We're almost out of money now that your Abuelo's gone. Do you want us to lose this house? Is that what you

want?" asked Alma, her eyes viciously focused on Santana.

"No Abuela," said Santana, defeated.

"Good," said Alma, "Now, go out there and accept the offer."

"Ms. Jones," said Santana, returning to the front door, begrudgingly polite.

"Yes?" said Mercedes, hopefully.

"I'll do it."

"Fantastic!" said Mercedes, "The team's coach and captain are over my house for dinner right now, you can join us if you want. We can discuss details and get to know each other better."

Santana was about to decline when her grandmother spoke for her, "Just give her a minute to wash up."

* * *

"Mercedes, thank goodness," said Brittany, looking flustered, "Sam tried to check on the roast and now there's smoke everywhere. I think he turned the wrong knob or something."

"Oh dear lord," said Mercedes, rushing off to the kitchen, revealing Santana standing quietly behind her.

"Hi," said Brittany, smiling after seeing Santana, "I'm Brittany. I'll be your catcher. And I'd like to thank you in advance for saving our season. We were pretty much dead in the water without a pitcher."

Santana looked at Brittany, unsure of what to make of her just yet.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Santana.

"What do you mean?" asked Brittany.

"Why are you making me your pitcher?" asked Santana, "You just happened to see me toss a couple of balls at a trash can, and now I'm hired?" Nothing had never been that easy before. There had to be a catch.

Brittany shrugged, "I guess we just got lucky. I'm mighty glad we found you."

Santana's eyes narrowed, it all seemed too good to be true.

"I'm real excited to start working with you," continued Brittany, "I just hope my catcher's mitt is padded enough. You put some serious heat into those fastballs. To be honest, I'm glad our first pitcher quit us. You're _amazing_, Santana."

Santana's face broke out into a full smile before she could stop herself.

"Well the roast is done burnt beyond repair," said Mercedes, returning to the hall from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry Mercedes," said Sam, scratching the back of his head, "I was just trying to be helpful. I was trying to turn off the darn thing, but it just heated up even more."

"I know. It's okay, Sam," said Mercedes, "But you do owe me a dinner sometime in the future."

"You can count on it," said Sam smiling.

Mercedes grinned back, before re-focusing, "But at least now we have time to see our new pitcher in action."

"Oh, hey," said Sam, realizing Santana was in the front hall with them, "I'm-"

"Sam Evans," said Santana, nodding, "You pitched for the Dodgers."

"Yes Ma'am," said Sam, always happy to be recognized.

"You threw too many forkballs," said Santana.

Brittany laughed, "That's what I always tried to tell him." She looked at Sam, "Your shoulder probably would have given if you kept playing for much longer."

"Yeah, well, let's just let sleeping dogs lie," said Sam, "Anyway, Santana, it's a pleasure. I'll be your new coach." He held out his hand. Santana shook it firmly.

"Now that we've all been introduced," said Mercedes, "I'd really like to see if Santana's pitching is as good as Brittany said it is." Now that Mercedes was joining the team, she wanted to make sure they were in good hands.

"She's even better," said Brittany, totally confident.

"Would you mind?" Sam asked Santana, eager to see his new prospective pitcher in action.

* * *

They all filed out of the house and followed Santana to her trashcan target setup in Alma Lopez's backyard.

Santana laid down her standard fastball, then a curve ball, a slider, and a sinker. All hitting the target within a centimeter of the bulls eye.

"Holy fucking shit," said Sam, looking as giddy as humanly possible. If everything worked out, he'd have the best pitcher and catcher in the league on his team.

"Sam! Two dollars in the Swear Jar," said Mercedes, disapprovingly, "But, girl, that was impressive as fudge."

"I told you guys," said Brittany, arms crossed in satisfaction.

Santana looked quietly proud of herself. Maybe this professional women's baseball thing wouldn't be too bad.

* * *

"Hey, who invited the gringo?" asked Kitty, looking at the girl approaching the field. The Rockford Peaches were on the baseball diamond, stretching before practice started.

Sam jogged over to Santana as she reached the field, "Great, you found us." Santana gave him a slight nod, a little uncomfortable with meeting the team for the first time.

"What do you think she's doing here?" whispered Pillsbury to the other infielders.

"I don't know," said Rachel, "Maybe she's the uniform wash girl. Or maybe she'll lug our equipment around for us."

Sam lead Santana to the field where the team was gathered, "Everyone, I'd like to introduce Santana Lopez. She'll be our new pitcher."

There was instant reaction of outrage and disbelief. Quite a few of the girls had wanted to be pitcher now that Suzy Pepper had left the team.

"Hey, hey, hey," said Sam, "Quit flapping your gums and see what she can do first." He looked at Santana, "How's about you head over to the pitcher's mound? Warm up a bit."

The team looked on skeptically.

* * *

"I just hope the team doesn't act like a bunch of assholes to you or Santana," said Brittany, walking up to practice with Mercedes.

"Brittany," said Mercedes, warningly, not appreciating the foul language.

"Shit, sorry," said Brittany, "I mean- ...crap. You know, maybe we shouldn't observe the swear jar policy while we're on the field, or Sam and I will be broke before the season starts."

Mercedes rolled her eyes, "Fine, but the rules stay the same off the field."

"Deal," said Brittany, as they reached the diamond.

* * *

Santana pitched to Sam, while the women of the Rockford Peaches stared in shocked disbelief.

"Okay, so she's our new pitcher," said Rachel, nodding, respecting talent when she saw it.

"Alright," said Sam, standing up from the squatting catcher's position and walking over to Santana, "That should shut 'em up up for a while." Sam dropped the baseball into Santana's glove, and left to greet Mercedes, who was now approaching the field with Brittany.

* * *

A short girl with unnaturally good posture made her way over to Santana. A few members of the team slowly followed suit, the rest hung back and murmured quietly among themselves.

"Hello," said Rachel, extending her hand out, "Rachel Berry, first base woman."

Santana looked at her hand, distrustfully, leaving Rachel awkwardly holding her hand out for several seconds.

"You're supposed to shake it, dumbass," said Kitty, looking over at them. Santana glared, about to rile off several choice insults in Spanish.

"Ignore her," said Brittany, walking up to Santana, "She's just pissed because you're a better pitcher than she is."

Santana let a flicker of a smile out, before regaining control over her face, and shook Rachel's hand.

"And who are you?" asked Kitty, looking Mercedes up and down, "The new manager?"

"Left field, actually," said Mercedes, curtly.

Sam blew his whistle, "Alright ladies, line up. Practice is starting."

The team assembled on the line from third base to home.

"Now, as you've noticed, we have some new additions to the team. Santana Lopez and Mercedes Jones," said Sam, pacing in front of his line up, "If anyone has a problem with that, they can kindly quit the team, and save me the trouble of trading them away. We clear?"

There was an unenthusiastic murmur of agreement.

"Okay, first string take the field, everyone else line up to bat. Let's hustle ladies," said Sam clapping his hands together, "We've got baseball games to win."


End file.
